


The Song Continues

by JustSomeFiction



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post - A Game of Thrones, Post-Canon, Sansa and Daenerys, The game is not over, They could have been unstoppable, the lone wold dies but the pack survives, this is a song of ice and fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeFiction/pseuds/JustSomeFiction
Summary: When she wakes in the North to find that the game might be over but the song is still playing. To pay for their sins they have to rebuild and work together, which is easier said than done.





	1. When She Awoke

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying something, to showcase my love for the Starks and Targaryens. This will be my post canon fic. It won't be very long as I am also working on a similar alternate universe fic with a similar spin. 
> 
> Basically I am currently in the writing mood and trying to milk this for as long as possible with all these ideas.

Soft. It was very soft. She remembers the cold metal and the hard floor as her body was lowered to the ground. Now she felt warmth and soft fur over her. Without warning her body jerked upwards, air filling her lungs.

Her eyes searched her surroundings, it was difficult to focus on one point. Suddenly she felt a hand pushing her back onto the furs. Turning towards the hand she froze.

"Sansa?"

"Daenerys."

It was short and curt. The red head stood above her, adorned in furs and a simple crown. Something felt familial about her and the situation, as though she was waking from a dream less sleep and not death.

"Where am I?"

"Exactly where you're supposed to be."

It was another voice. From the other end of the candle lit room. There sitting in his chair was Bran Stark, wrapped in furs and wearing the same blank expression as he did so long ago.

Sansa lowered herself onto the chair besides the bed and stared at Daenerys. Her expression unreadable.

"I would ask Tyrion, why you," she slowly started, "why did everything rest on you?"

Confusion filled her face and her stomach pulled stiff at the sudden realization of her actions. The fire, the death and destruction. Countless lives gone, because of her greed, because she thought she was entitled to love and respect of a nation who did not know her. Wrapping the furs tighter around herself she suddenly felt sick.

"As it turns out, you were our last hope," Sansa continued, "if it wasn't for your greed and anger, we would not be where we are today."

Up until now Daenerys was looking down into her lap, not wanting to stare into the scrutinizing eyes of the Stark woman. Then Sansa reached over and touched her hand and she willed herself to look at the northerner.

"Daenerys Targeryen, Mother of Dragons," she started, "was what the Seven Kingdoms needed to see that how we've been doing things for the past thousand years was not the way to go."

Many things were running through her mind at this moment, was she their prisoner? Was she to pay for her crimes in another manner which they deemed worse than death. What was worse than having your love run you through with his dagger as he pledged himself to you.

"You were never meant to rule the Seven Kingdoms," Bran suddenly cut through her thoughts, "you were meant to change the world but not rule it. You have changed it, for the better, but it was not at the cost of your life," he wheeled himself closer to the bed, "it was at the cost of your power."

She shook her head, "I don't understand."

"Your part in the Game was over the moment you destroyed Kings Landing," he continued, "but your death was the key for you to lead a different life. Deep down you wanted home and a family, you never wanted the throne. You wanted a house with a red door," at the mention of her long forgotten childhood dream she looked at Bran shell-shocked.

"How did you know that?" she's never told anyone that piece of information, not even Jon.

Bran smiled, "I'm the three-eyed raven remember," she found herself suppressing an eye roll, "this is your chance to live your life, you may never be the Queen but you can still live a life and make the world a better place."

She shook her head, realization sinking in further, "I've done terrible things," she whispered.

It was Sansa who spoke now, "We've all done terrible things to survive, and to protect what we love and care for," they looked at one another and knew exactly who that was referred to, "but at the end we live."

"I have nowhere to go," she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes as it dawned on her that she was truly alone, "my armies are gone, my followers, Jon," she whispered his name. Sansa smiled gently and shook her head and suddenly Daenerys felt a warmth overcome.

"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives," the red head whispered, "you were alone, a dragon amongst men, but you found your wolf and he had a pack and a pack sticks together," Sansa smiled lightly and continued, "We were wrong to judge you so quickly just as you were wrong to demand our submission, but in the end its just us left in the world we've all had a part in destroying and for the mistakes we’ve made along the way."

"Where does that leave us now," Daenerys voice grew stronger, "why am I here, in the North?"

Bran looked at her and smiled, "Because it is where you belong,” looking at her once more in the eye, “I found you in Asshai, with many red priestess around you, they were going to bury your body, but then,” he stopped and looked towards the window, “it’s only happened before to two other, being brought back, both have served their purposes, but only one returned to death soon after,” _Beric_ she thought, “the other roams the North beyond the wall now,” _Jon_.

"Daenerys," Sansa said, her voice ever sharp and blunt, "Bran brought you back because he believes you still have a part to play," she sighed, "he believes you can still do good, but not as a queen," she sent her brother a pointed stare, "I was not too keen on having you here initially, but it occurred to me, my brother loved you and cared for you and you were part of his pack as much as we were, that alone made me ponder on what happened back then,” looking at Daenerys she continued, “I was wrong for breaking my oath to Jon that day, and I’ve regretted it ever since, out of all of us he has given the most and lost the most, all so we could have a better world."

It was then that she realized they've been speaking Jon as though he was not here, "Where is he?" her voice felt brittle.

"I exiled him for killing you, Grey Worm wanted his head, but this was the best solution," the new king spoke, "but once your armies left Westeros and the North became independent, Sansa expanded the Northern territory to include Wilding areas and Castle Black, where Jon was to remain, she lifted the sentence."

Was to remain? She turned to Sansa who followed on, “Jon went beyond the wall shortly after arriving at Castle Black, to help the Wildlings settle back into their lands, but as soon as I was elected Queen in the North, I sent a raven calling him home, he sent one back and told me he needed time,” she had a tear in her eye, “he needed to heal, but when Bran informed me that he found you, I decided that he should be here, to see you to heal.”

What was the point of all this? Why tell her this? Why bring her back. As if sensing her inner thoughts, Bran shifted slightly and sighed.

“We need to rebuild our lands and our lives,” he looked her dead in the eyes, “when I look to the future, you are there somehow, or signs of your presence and his within the Northern Kingdom. I know after what has happened, he’ll never want to rule and you were never fit to rule, but I’ve seen what love of a people does to one and how change can be made. So, if the fates see it fit for you to come back and pay for your crimes by rebuilding this world, so be it.”

Daenerys let it sink in. This was her chance to make a better world and rebuild the one she had a hand in destroying, taking a deep breath she turned to Sansa, “I lost everything, my armies, my advisors, my friends and the one man I truly loved, for what,” she sighed, “I lost myself and now I’m a prisoner.”

“No you’re not,” Sansa grabbed her hand, “don’t you understand, we’ve all been playing the game wrong,” she moved closer, “us, Cersei, even Aegon the Conqueror, our intentions were never clear or good, the only war that mattered, came and went and all we could think of was that fucking chair in King’s Landing,” she pulls away, slightly shocked that Sansa had it in her to swear, “we destroyed one another and destroyed ourselves and the innocent, now we have a chance to make it better before,” she trails off and looks at Bran.

“Before what?” Daenerys feels uneasy as the two Starks, _the two monarchs_ now she thinks, look at one another. She always found it fascinating and was slightly envious at how the Starks could communicate with just their eyes.

“Arya sailed west,” what’s west of Westeros, she heard the young Stark murmur that a few times, “we don’t know what’s west of here or who else is out there, this land is small in comparison to the rest of the lands, we’ve been self-absorbed and consumed with hatred and power that we not only had an army of the dead nearly defeat us, but also you invading our lands with Dorthraki and Unsullied,” Sansa stood up, “we did not get off to the greatest start, in another life we could have been allies, maybe even friends, that was something I thought of for a long time after your death and Jon’s punishment, for his sake I regretted my part in your death but not your downfall, but now, we have a chance to start over, all of us, to actually build a better world and protect what we hold dear.”

She didn’t wait for Daenerys to reply, simply turned and walked out. This left Bran and Daenerys alone in the room. She the eyed the new king of the Six Kingdoms, trying to figure out what his motives were here.

“You’ve been playing the game all along,” she looked at him, “you knew what would happen, you knew the outcome and yet you did nothing,” Bran was silent, “you’ve been manipulating us all, your siblings, Sam, Tyrion, Jon, even me.”

“I had to,” he whispered, his voice somber, “you would have never given up.”

“I wanted to break the wheel.”

“Yes you did,” he confirmed.

“I lost my sanity,” she paused, “or was that your doing?”

“It was mine,” he confirmed, “but as I said, it had to happen, it was the only way to break the wheel.”

“Is it truly broken though?”

“Only time will tell.”

Sansa returned with a servant following behind her. The young girl’s eyes were wide with shock at seeing the former conqueror, wrapped only in the thick furs of the bed. She set the tray of food down and bowed hesitantly before leaving.

“The castle is aware of your presence,” Sansa handed her a goblet, “but I’ve assured them that this time you truly mean no harm.”

It struck her then that many people would probably want her to stand trial, just like Jon was sentenced, she voiced her question. Bran looked to his sister, “No you won’t,” she refilled her own goblet, “the way I see it, we all are paying for our crimes by still being alive, so that shall be your punishment as well.”

She understood now. Some higher power, or destiny could have finished them all off, but instead, they saw it fit to keep them all alive and bring her back to rectify all their wrongs and mistakes. Her mind slowly started to drift to the absent members who she’d expect to be there. Tyrion, her former hand, it was almost unbearable to think about how things ended for his family. They were at one another’s throats for weeks. He’d make mistakes, she wouldn’t listen to his reasoning. Samwell, Brienne and the Starks. For all his manipulation the new king knew what he was doing and even though she is back, she can’t help but resent him.

Then slowly her mind wondered to Jon and a feeling bubbled inside of her. They turned him against her in a way. She loved him, truly loved him and they turned him against her. In the end he was all she had and they took him away.

“I loved him,” she whispered, “I truly loved him.”

Sansa and Bran bowed their heads, the new king spoke, “We were not the only culprits in destroying your love,” he sat a bit straighter in his chair, “it was your own greed for power which drove a wedge between you, yet even so, he was still loyal, it took a lot of pushing to get him to do what he had to.” She closed her eyes, remembering that moment, he kept trying to reason with her, tried to make her let go of her ambition, but she refused. Now she wishes she could go back and walk away from that damned chair and into his arms again, begging him to take them back to that waterfall.

“If it’s any consolation, whenever I saw you and him, it was always in the North,” Bran looked up, no emotion present as usual, “it was never King’s Landing or Dragonstone or even Essos, it was always the North.”

A vague memory made her smile lightly, _we could stay a thousand years, no one would find us._ They were close to the Wall that day. Deep down she knew, if she could choose any place in Westeros it would be the North, why, she could not say, but she knew there was something pulling her to this place.

“Does he know?”

“No,” Sansa spoke up, “this was a matter I wanted to tell him in person, I was hoping he’d make it back to Castle Black before you woke.”

“Do you really think he’d come back to this side of the Wall after everything that has happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He will,” Bran said, “for the right reason.”

Daenerys shook her head, “I’m not that reason,” she tried to argue, but this time Sansa sat on the bed and held both her hands in her own.

“Yes, you are,” the northern queen’s eyes shun with tears, “it doesn’t matter what has had happened, what matters now is that he comes home. I not only took the North to protect my people, but I took it so that he could live a more promising life after everything that has happened, he didn’t deserved to be banished for choosing to guard the realms of men.”

Something was off about the way Sansa was speaking, Daenarys could tell there was more going on than just rebuilding a better world or bringing Jon home. She decided that she was done with listening to selected words and pulled her hands out of the queen’s grasp.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

The siblings looked at one another and back at her, again having a silent conversation with one another. As she looked between the siblings, something struck her. If Bran Stark was the King, why was he here in Winterfell and where was his Hand or members of his council, or his guards? As the thought struck her, it felt as though a weight was dropped on her head and her eyes rolled back. She gasped as she came to, she was still in the same room as earlier, but now it was only her and Sansa, Bran was nowhere in sight. Sansa was looking at her intently, waiting for her to react.

Sansa continued their conversation as if nothing happened, “The wall is gone Daenerys and we don’t know why.”


	2. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Criticism is very much welcomed. Slowly the chapters will get longer and more dense. I'm challenging myself by trying to build relationships among various characters, something which I struggle with a lot. Sansa and Daenarys are two of my favourite characters and I honestly think they could have taken over the world together. 
> 
> If no one has noticed based off all my other GOT fics and my tumblr page, I am a huge Stark and Targaryen fan and was expecting much more from the alliance, but it is what it is I guess. 
> 
> I also have two more stories coming up. Lately I've been into the whole monarchs in the North AU and Organised Crime Au so stay tuned for some Dark characters. 
> 
> Stay tuned. 
> 
> And also thank you for the lovely comments for the first chapter. I hope this one is just as well received.

**Chapter 2: Time**

The North. Harsh. Unforgiving. Beautiful. Home.

He did not know for how long he rode. Each day he would range further north, just him and Ghost. They’d set up camp late afternoon, hunt and settle in. That has been his routine for the last few weeks, since Sansa’s last raven was sent, begging him to come home. What was left for him? He left Winterfell all those years ago as a bastard. Regardless of his status, he was honourable, never stepped out of line, did what he thought was right and protected the realms of men. What did he gain from that? Now an oath breaker, kinslayer and queenslayer. Part of him wanted to believe that he did the right thing, that he saved everyone by doing what he did. For as long as he can remember, he has been doing what he or others deem is right. Not once in his life has, he ever felt as torn and conflicted as he did that day. _You are my queen, now and always_. He meant it. Going back to the Winterfell meant submitting to Sansa’s rule, bending the knee to another queen. Where here in the beyond the wall, he was free. Free to be who he wants to be, to roam and dwell in his memories and to heal.

The scroll was neatly folded and kept in one of his sachels. Sansa’s elegant handwriting gracing the parchment, pleading with him to return, _you belong in Winterfell, I meant what I said, it’s ours and you will always be a Stark to me_. He would return one day, deep down he knew this, he would always go back to WInterfell. After the war and the North gaining independence, a trading system was established between the Free Folk who remained close to Castle Black and small towns along the wall, according to Tormund. In the past year or so, he can’t remember how long it’s been, the entire North seems to be flourishing. He just could not find it in himself to care. He loved the North, its people and his family, yet what did that gain him. The more he fought for them it seems, the more he lost.

Some nights he’d ponder and reason with himself, _I gave her a chance to realise her faults_. He tried to reason with her, he wanted her to see that the vision she had was not the one which was panning out at the time. This was not what she wanted, at the time she wasn’t his Dany, she wasn’t the queen the people deserved. Yet part of him also knew that it was his actions that pushed her further away, he let others cloud his judgement. He let the love her felt for her and the love he had for his family tear him apart. Not being one who easily felt or expressed emotions such as affection for another, he knew that he didn’t react appropriately the night Varys was executed. She needed love and he more than anyone else out there knew that she needed to feel wanted. A memory which seemed from a lifetime ago flashed beneath his eyelids.

_“We can stay hear a thousand years,” she turned to him, “no one would find us.” They were standing in front of a waterfall. The snow around her making her appear ethereal. They made their way back to the castle and found themselves in his chambers. Clothes falling away until they were fully together._

_They were under a sea of furs, a thin layer of sweat coating their bared bodies, she was sprawled across his chest, “Part of me wants to stay here, in the North, with you,” she murmured, it was their first night in Winterfell, “we could let the Southern lords destroy one another,” her finger tracing the scar over his heart._

_“What happened to breaking the wheel?” he mumbled into her hair, his hand resting on her lower back._

_She smiled gently and brought her hand up, let it rest on his cheek, “We still can,” pushing herself up she pressed her lips to his, “but there is a small part of me that wants to break it and then just disappear to the North with you, where no one can find us.”_

_Pulling her closer up to his face, he stroked her cheek, “Truly?” slowly she nodded, “would you forget the Iron Throne once all of this is over, leave it all behind?”_

_“That’s what frightens me the most,” she confessed, “I’ve had one goal, I’m so close to it, but I don’t think after I reach it that I would be happy in the South, or on the throne. It frightens me that in such a short time I’m considering giving it all up.”_

_“What is it that you truly want Dany?”_

_“I want you,” she whispered, “I want to build a better world with you and part of me believes that I won’t need throne to do that, we could break the wheel and once it’s all over be free.”_

_“Aye we could,” he whispered and rolled them over, capturing her lips as they moved together._

If time could have stood still in those coming days. They would have figured it out. After that night everything slowly started to unravel, and that tender conversation was forgotten. _We destroyed each other and took everyone else down in our wake._

He was brought out of his self-deprecation by Ghost. The direwolf stood in front of a large Weirwood tree, his remaining ear pointed up, his tail straight and alert. It looked old and withered, yet the leaves still shone red in the winter sunlight. Ghost stood completely still in front of the tree. Usually an inquisitive creature, the direwolf would sniff and prod at new landmarks they’d find, yet now he was on high alert, his head kept still in the direction of the tree. Jon slowly dismounted from his horse and walked towards his wolf. His hand resting on Longclaw he moved towards the tree, snow crunching beneath his feet. As he came closer, he stopped dead in his tracks. On the bark of the old tree, there was a marking, which seemed to be freshly made, the flesh of the tree wet. It was a marking he had seen many times before and it turned the blood in his veins to ice.

* * *

 

Sansa Stark would like to think her actions were justifiable. She suffered and she endured. She got her home back and her family. From the moment she stepped foot into Winterfell after that fateful day, she made a promise to herself that she would do whatever it takes to keep herself, her family and the North safe. As a young girl all she wanted to do was leave. Go far away and marry a king and be a queen. _Stupid girl_ , she’d think, _with silly dreams._ What she has today, now, is because she worked and plotted and ensured that no harm would come to her family or her people. Until the Dragon Queen. Deep down she knew that over time they could have built an alliance. They were after all queens in their own right, neither one requiring a king – _but Daenerys chose one for herself_. With time, Jon could have convinced Daenerys to let go of the North and her family could have been whole and safe. _There were too many obstacles_ , she would tell herself late at night, _we were children, scarred by life and desperate to be free_. Now after all the horror and pain, they were broken people trying to rebuild a world that was torn since before they were even born.

Bran would visit her in her dreams, and they’d sit beneath the Weirwood Tree, discussing all that has been and all that could have been. They’d reminisce and speak and in those short fleeting moments, she had her little brother back. If she knew what she knew now, her actions would have been different. Her plotting and planning would have been more precise _. It had to happen as it did_ , Bran would say towards the end of their dreams. When he’d utter those words, in the depths of her being she knew that they were not done yet.

It was pass dawn when she made her way to Jon’s chambers to see Daenerys. She willed herself to keep her paranoia at bay. Over time, she knew the feeling of disdain she felt towards the Targaryen would fade, she just needed time, they both needed time to trust one another – something they didn’t have the first time round. As she turned the corner, she stopped the servant girl from entering the chambers, taking the tray of food and drink from her. The servant, who looked more than relieved gave her a hurried curtsey and scurried away. Entering the chamber she almost smiled when the familiar scent of fire wood, direwolf and Jon hit her, only now, after weeks of waiting for Daenerys to wake, it was mixed with her scent as well – _as it should be_ , Bran’s voice rang out in her head. Setting the tray down on the table by the hearth, she threw a few logs into the fire. Daenerys was perched on the window sill, observing the inhabitants below her.

“I’ve brought you some food,” Sansa made no effort to move towards the silver haired woman and sat down at the table.

Daenerys stayed at the window and simply continued to observe the people below. After a prolonged silence she turned around and faced Sansa who noticed that she had draped Jon’s cloak around her legs.

“I made that for him,” she let the smile form on her face, “just before we set out to reclaim our home,” pouring herself some warm tea and filling her plate with some bread and meat she looked at the Dragon Queen, “our father wore a similar cloak.”

Daenerys made her way to the table and sat opposite the Northern Queen, her eyes roaming the room.

“The last time I was in this room,” she said, disregarding what Sansa said, “I begged him to not tell you the truth of who he was,” Sansa said nothing and simply looked at her, not surprised at all at this revelation, “I wanted things to go back to how they were between us,” she continued, “I wanted to be his queen and I wanted him to give me the North and I wanted the Northerners to give me the respect I deserved,” she paused and looked at Sansa, “but I was wrong to expect that of him and I was wrong to expect something which I was not entitled to here, something that I earned across the Narrow Sea,” she reached over and picked up an apple slice, “but what I wanted the most was him to just tell me that I’m not alone, I wanted him to reason with me and tell me how stupid I was and how reckless I was, like he did at Dragonstone,” she smiled, but it almost looked hollow, “when he eventually decided to speak up, I ended up with a dagger to the heart.”

Sansa almost felt sympathy for Daenerys in that moment, but it quickly vanished, “All he ever wanted was to feel like he belonged, just as you wanted as well.”

“I know this now,” Daenerys whispers, “deep down I knew that I needed to stop, I needed to reconsider what I thought I knew I wanted.”

Both women sat in silence, contemplating the happenings which led to her death. They both knew if there was more time, things would have been different. She would have earned the love and respect she so desperately wanted. _The North are a hard people, withered and abused, wronged by the south_ , Tyrion once told her. During the Great War, she observed her northern hosts. They were hard and cold, yes, but they were loyal to their own. The Starks bickered amongst one another, but the love they shared for each other was palpable and on more than one occasion she wished that she could be a part of that. She’d catch herself wondering how it would be if she has a simpler life here, with Jon, befriending the Stark sisters, strolling around with Ghost. Then the hard reality set in, they were at war, with enemies approaching from outside and within.

The night after the mass funeral, she saw another side of the north. A more welcoming side. People sat together, drank, laughed and rejoiced. The stone walls around everyone’s hearts seem to crumble. People were telling stories, welcoming the Dorthraki and Unsullied to join them. Even witnessing this she could not will herself to move from her seat that night. _He keeps fighting, a madman or a king, befriending an enemy_. Tormund’s rough voice rung in her ears. With each declaration she felt her resolve slipping. The numbing feeling of jealousy bubbled within her that night until she could no longer be in the presence of the survivors, even more so Jon’s. Part of her knew she was being irrational that night, she was grieving the loss of Ser Jorah, the adrenaline of the fight still not fully out of her system either.

In that moment she forgot why she was there. She forgot that she was not there to conquer, she was there to save the people and to break the wheel. She was there for Jon, because like her, he was not given titles simply because of his birth. He earned them, he fought, he died and he lived. In that moment she let the darkness she kept at bay fully consume her. It took the joy she could have felt at not being alone anymore and turned it into something hateful and destructive. She was no longer alone. She could have the family she wanted, she could belong somewhere, but she pushed him and everyone else pulled him in different directions. No one gave him a chance to process the truth, no one gave him a moment to find himself and be at peace with who he was, _including me_. In the end they all were to blame for the outcome.

“I need to know,” Sansa whispered, “why you did what you did?”

“I didn’t have love here.”

“He didn’t either, not at first,” Sansa set her goblet aside, “from what I’ve heard, your story is just as turbulent and ours, we were the dogs, the Northmen who were too stubborn and honourable, who lost their heads and virtue.”

She looked at Sansa, the younger woman’s eyes piercing into her own and it hit her. At one point they were both used as pawns to better the station of others. _I was sold and raped_ , she told Jon that day, _I had faith in myself._ Sansa Stark had faith in herself. She overcame her abusers, she overcame the ones who doubted her. Yet, they were so different as well. The Stark girl was cool and calculating, the ice of the North running within her. She herself wore her heart on her sleeve, let the words and actions of others control her emotions. In the end however, they had one thing in common, they would do anything to protect the ones they loved.

“We could have learnt a great deal from one another,” she mused, “if only you didn’t conspire behind my back.”

“And if you just listened to reason,” Sansa replied. For one reason or another, this made her smile, _she’s a wolf, baring her teeth while still being graceful and elegant_. A queen in her own right, a leader.

“Maybe we still can.”

Before Sansa could answer, a frantic knock came from the door and a muffled voice of a timid servant in the distance. Before either woman could react, the door swung open to reveal Tormund GIantsbane.

 


	3. What We Do To Survive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Firstly, thank you so much to everyone who is reading and to everyone who has commented, left a Kudos or who has Bookmarked this story. It means a lot to me. 
> 
> Secondly, this chapter took a bit longer, but from now on the chapters are going to get longer and more dense 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> x

**Chapter 3**

The trio moved to Jon’s solar. The small room was not used for some time, however it still felt like Jon to her, simple, clean and organized.  A fire was lit, warm drinks were poured, and the two queens stared at the giant wilding, still drenched in melting snow and fur. Daenerys was intrigued with the Free Folk, having felt a great respect for what Jon did and what they would do for Jon in return, especially Tormund. _Maybe this time round, we could get to know one another better_ , she mused. Said man was staring at her, a look of shock having settled on his features as soon as he barged into the quarters. So here they sat, each waiting for the other to speak, to explain their stories. In all honesty she herself did no know where to begin her story, one moment she was staring into a black abyss, the next she was in Jon’s chambers, she did not even know how much time had passed. She’d have to place some trust in the Queen of the North to enlighten both her and their surprise guest about the events which transpired in that time.

“You’re suppose to be dead,” his voice cut through the silence, rough and blunt.

“I thought so too,” she stared back at him.

“How?”

“You’d have to ask the Queen in the North,” she sipped her drink and glanced at Sansa, “I too am at odds with the detail of my sudden return.”

“A story for another time,” Sansa simply replied, “it’s a long story and I would like all the ones involved to be here,” she knew who had to be here, _Jon_. Daenerys knew eventually the two of them were going to bump heads and the tension between them was going to reach its limit. There were so many things which needed to be said between them, so much loathing and disregard for the other which they needed to overcome if they were to establish any type of relationship between them. Part of her help some sort of respect for the young queen. Based off what Jon had told her from his childhood, Sansa Stark was far from the starry-eyed highborn girl who sneered and held disdain for him. In her place was a woman who has suffered almost as much as she has, who too was raped, beaten and sold. Compared to Daenerys, Sansa could have become weaker, could have let others bend her to their will, but no, like Daenerys, she saw justice served to those who abused her. Now Sansa was a warrior in her own right, someone who was willing to fight for her people and her home. She could respect that. However, what she could not respect about the girl was her disregard for oaths and her willingness to break her brother’s trust for her own gains, _she wanted Jon on the throne, not because he was the better choice, but because he was not me_. Yes, they had a lot to talk about, but now was not the time. She could not dwell on that now.

“Tormund,” looking at the large man huddled in the chair, dwarfing it, she swallowed, “what happened?”

He began to tell his story to the two of them. His arms waving wildly, eyes wide, blood still pumping with adrenaline. They listened as he recounted what had happened to them beyond the wall. Daenerys found out that in the between her death and resurrection, the Free Folk and the North established a trading network between them – _we can never be certain that there’s no longer a threat in the true north_ , that’s what Tormund said, so the two neighboring lands decided to keep channels open between their people. His people flourished after a few months beyond the wall again, he was smiling as he spoke. Some went to Hardhome to rebuild, others to the Frost Fangs, some did not go further than the Haunted Forest – those being the ones who established the first trading channels. The Free Folk it seemed were going about life just fine – she envied them, these people who were ridiculed by the south, demonized and were almost exterminated by the White Walkers, seemed to have carried on, without any issue.

Yet, here they were on the other side of the wall, still reeling from the fallout. She could not let her ambition, he rightly placed goals or her vision go. It blinded her, just like Sansa was blinded by her own ambition. The Free Folk, who lost so much, celebrated and rejoiced at the cessation of the apparent apocalypse – these supposed savages somehow knew where their priorities were with regard to life or death. The rest of them were too consumed by who would sit on the throne, too invested in a game which could not be won. Maybe if they just for a moment could have observed the relief and peace among the Free Folk, then maybe things could have ended differently.

“Jon carried on, beyond the Frost Fangs,” Tormund’s gruff voice pulled her back from her wondering thoughts, “said he’d come back when he felt the time was right.”

Sansa looked stoic, listening to what the older man relayed to them, “He left two weeks ago, just after your last raven,” the fire roared to life as he lugged a few pieces of wood into the dying embers, “the little crow was still in mourning.”

He continued when he saw Dany’s mouth move to ask a question regarding that, “So I went back to Hardhome and then made my way to the Haunted Forest to see how the rest were doing and how trading channels were faring.”

He stopped and stared into the fire, “Three days ago, as myself and a few others made our way to Castle Black, it happened,” he sat up straighter, his face hardened, “one moment we saw the wall in the horizon, the next it just crumbled.”

* * *

 

He could feel the blood rushing to his feet, his heart beating, he thought it would barrel its way out from between his ribs. The trunk of the tree seeped red sap, which was slowly dripping from the deep cuts made to its bark, he was certain that the cold would freeze it before it reached the bottom. The spiral cut into the wood was not large, but quite noticeable and looked to be freshly done. Making his way closer to the trunk he felt numb, the last time he saw this sign was when it was decorating the caves of the Dragonstone, _they left us a warning_ , Tormund told him when he and Edd arrived at Winterfell, warning them about the Night King’s approach. Just like they left warnings beyond the wall all those years ago. Yet this seemed to be carved using a blade and looked to be meticulously carved. Lifting a gloved-hand he touched the carving, exhaling the deep breath he forgot he took.

Two weeks ago, he broke away from Tormund at the Fist of the First Men, the larger man deciding to venture back south for a bit and overlook some of the rebuilding at Hardhome and assist with the trading between the Free Folk and the Northerners. Initially, Jon was to accompany Tormund, however Sansa’s letter, still burning a hole in his furs made him feel on edge. It was too soon to go back he felt, no matter how many months have passed and no matter how free he felt, the deed he had done still haunted him. He still saw her eyes staring at him, shocked, hurt and confused. There was no anger in them, there was no time for her to be angry, _she was dead before her head touched the ground_ , he would think bitterly. Not only did he need to heal and make peace with the past, he had to overcome what he felt towards his family, Bran and Sansa, as well as Tyrion and Sam. Throughout the long winter nights, his mind would wonder, memories would flood his mind and after a few months he allowed himself to not only grieve her but also feel the rage he had towards the others. Westeros has been at ward for decades, yet none of them could seem to learn from the mistakes of their predecessors and so they all failed in his eyes, him included, yet he did not know if it was because of duty or love that he had failed.

A few days after Sansa’s last letter, he knew he had to go back south and not only confront his demons but made peace with them as well. _They all wanted him to return, for my whole life I’ve been doing what other people have bloody wanted me to do_ , he thought bitterly. He would go back as Sansa asked, but he would make her wait, he would go further north beyond the Frost Fangs, than the rest of the Free Folk, compose himself, gather his thoughts, _it’s time I start playing this bloody game as well_ , he told himself and this time he was not going to allow the ones he cared for to manipulate him. He’d go back to them, but on his own terms. So here he stood as the only living being this side of the Frost Fangs, or so he thought. He was the only one who has ventured this far up since they left Westeros, yet something else was here as well, someone or something who wanted this carving to be noticed.

* * *

 

Sansa and Daenerys were seated in the Great Hall that evening, Tormund was given a room, as were his two companions who journeyed with him to Winterfell. They wanted to believe it was a sign that the enemy in the north was truly gone, yet the wildling dismissed their optimism, _when that Stark fucker built that wall in the first place everyone also thought the threat was gone_ , he all but growled. It almost made Dany smile, but the twisting sensation in her gut prevented her from doing so. After that Tormund retired for the evening and the two women decided to supper together. An event which both of them were not very keen on. The servants moved around them, either being too frightened or not caring of the presence of the former Dragon Queen. They sat in silence, neither one touching their meals.

“The last time we spoke privately,” somehow Daenerys found her voice, “we parted on quite distressful terms.”

“Yes, we did.”

“You wanted Northern Independence,” it was a statement.

“The north deserved independence.”

“Why?” she snapped, “Out of all the seven kingdoms, what made the north special?”

Sansa looked at her, eyes glistening from the fire’s reflection, “You don’t know half of what the north has been through.”

“And you don’t know half of what I have been through.”

The Stark sister fell silent, they’ve reached some form of common ground it seemed. They have also reached another soul crushing realization, neither one of them were willing to listen to the other that day, they were forced to be allies, Jon being their only link. It was not Sansa who came to Dragonstone, nor was it her choice to bend the knee. She was in the North, caring for the people, whose new king went south – the second northern king in the span of a few years to do so. While she was fighting to keep the peace, while her brother was trying to reason with a queen who wanted to reclaim her homeland. Daenerys was saddled with a people who, used to being forgotten by the south, seemed to always endure or suffer from the south’s actions. She was forced to fight alongside a people who did not know her, nor trusted her. Even after the Long Night, the northerners were skeptical, _not that I gave them a chance to be anything other_. There was no opportunity to form a stable alliance amongst one another. Dany believed that both of them would be able to see eye to eye due to their trust in Jon. That was their first mistake, with many more following rapidly after. Now, with Jon gone, maybe they could build a proper relationship, listen to one another.

“It appears that you got what you always wanted,” she did not mean to sound as bitter as she did, however her patience was wearing thin regarding this entire situation.

“No,” Sansa replied, her voice hard, “what I wanted was my family together, here in Winterfell. Now I have some being inhabiting my little brother who is playing king in the south, a brother in exile for doing what others, myself included deemed necessary and a sister who is on the other side of the world. What I do have is a land of people who may never trust outsiders again and a home which is still broken from the previous wars. What I also have is the woman who helped save my home, in my presence and all I can think of is the stories I heard from King’s Landing and what you did to that city and how no matter how much I want to be furious or disgusted by the outcome, I can’t help but be thankful for your actions.”

Sansa’s words shocked Daenerys here sat the woman who sought to destroy her, who wanted to use the only person she had left to love against her, telling her that she was thankful. Sansa’s hand reached of the table, mirroring her own actions that day in the solar, and gently squeezed her hand. In that moment Daenerys made a decision.

“I regret what happened,” her voice shook, “truly I do.”

“I know.”

“It had to be done though,” she continued, “Cersei would never have surrendered, regardless of what everyone else did.”

“I know that too,” Sansa took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to the flames, “that city, everything it represents, the people, the power and the idea of a brighter future, it doesn’t exist. Those people are just like everyone else in Westeros, they would never have loved you, too many years of oppression and falling victim to the actions of the people in power, weakened their minds.”

“I could have stopped it,” Dany’s voice was small, “but I felt anger towards everyone that day, including myself, Jon, my ancestors, you, Tyrion. I wanted to make it stop. All I had was fear. I came to save the North and I was treated like a foreign invade who seduce their king. Wherever I turned, I was met with fear. Not like in Mereen.”

“There’s your mistake Daenerys,” it was the first time since she woke up that Sansa has used her full name, “in Mereen you were liberating people who knew they were slaves, here, the people you were trying to liberate were brainwashed into thinking they were free.”

The magnitude of Sansa’s words hit her and she sat back as the Queen continued, “I need to make amends for my part in your downfall, not only for myself but for you and Jon as well. I was trying to protect my family, but my own ambition got in the way, just as yours got in the way in the past. All I ask is that you are patient and learn about the people around you, as Tyrion has told me you did in Mereen. Let them see what their king saw in you.”

_They will see you for what you are._

_I hope I deserve it._

For the rest of the night the two queens spoke. Telling each other their stories, of their struggles, of their losses and what they did to survive. Both knew the world was changing and they would need to work together to survive whatever was to come. They sat until the fire died and there was no more wood to burn. There was no further tension – their troubles were not fully resolved, but somehow, they found a starting point. Daenerys heard the stories which Jon told her during their nights on the boat, only this time from Sansa’s view – which was completely different to Jon’s versions. She heard stories of Robb, Ned and Lady Catelyn, the younger woman confirming her mistreatment of Jon. In return Daenerys shared her trials and tribulations, she even spoke of Viserys and his death, Sansa assuring her that sometimes they had to do anything in order to survive – that led to the story of Ramsey Bolton’s demise.

When the fire was completely dead, they both retired to bed and for the first time in a long time – including before her death – Daenerys felt as though a weight has somewhat lifted off her shoulders. She was not naïve to think that all has been forgotten or that there will be no more setbacks with Sansa, but for now, they made progress, they found common ground, something which they never had in the past.

As she slipped into unconsciousness, buried beneath the furs, her mind drifted and she allowed the dream to flow through. _The visions danced in front of her eyes. There was a figure standing in front of a Weirdwood tree. She could make out the silhouette of a man, dressed in black, Jon, she thought. Before she could get closer her surroundings changed, she was standing in a room, no different from the one she was currently roomed in. On the large bed laid a wooden box. Before she could reach out for it a voice called out to her, it was muffled, but familiar, turning around she was met with the ruby eyes of Ghost, the voice seemingly coming from him. It was getting louder, more frantic, yet she did could not tell who it was. The large direwolf turned around and walked out the door. It’s a dream, a may as well follow him, she thought. Walking behind Ghost she followed him through the halls, out into the courtyard and towards a tower, yet, before she could reach the tower her dream faded to black and all she heard was the same indistinguishable voice calling for her._

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
